


The Ghost and the Witch-Child

by sweetcarolanne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cats, Found Family, Gen, Ghosts, Magic, Runaway children, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-28 23:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcarolanne/pseuds/sweetcarolanne
Summary: A quirky fairy-tale in which a ghostly witch finds the apprentice she always longed for, and a runaway child finds the family she needs.





	The Ghost and the Witch-Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I hope you enjoy this story - your prompt was beautiful and I very much enjoyed creating this for you! <3

The little cottage in the woods had stood, apparently abandoned, for decades, and only a child as innocent and in such desperate need as the one who crept in to seek shelter from the pouring rain and bone-chilling wind could have failed to notice how perfectly clean the small house was and how tidily kept the garden full of flowers and herbs appeared to be.

But all the young one wanted to do, it seemed, was to hide from the world and sleep. And the kindly old woman’s heart went out to the girl, who could not have been more than about six or seven years of age. 

The child had enough power to conjure herself a tiny fire in the grate, and to make the threadbare blanket she wrapped around herself as she slept a little warmer and heavier. But as her eyelids fluttered shut at last after much tossing and turning, the old woman was able to turn the blanket into a goose-feather bed and thick woollen coverlets, and to place soft pillows under the head of sleek auburn curls. The poor girl was so tired that she noticed nothing, not even the two cats who climbed on top of the bed to keep her company, for their weightless, spectral forms made not even the smallest dent in the patchwork quilt.

All night the old woman sat in her rocking chair by the fire, keeping a protective watch over the girl. How like her this little one was – not only possessing the same magical gifts, but the same determination to shun a world that could never comprehend them. Even the child’s face bore a strong resemblance to her own in her younger years; perhaps this girl was even of her own blood. None of the old woman’s daughters or granddaughters had displayed any signs of magic or any inclination to learn the skills of the sorceress’s craft… but perhaps, many generations later, a miracle had occurred within the family line. 

As the sunlight delicately touched the window-panes, the child sat up and stretched her all-too-slender limbs. Her sea-green eyes went wide with wonder, but she showed not the slightest hint of fear.

“My name is Barbara,” said the girl, as she slipped out of bed and slid her tiny feet into the fur slippers the old woman had laid out for her. “What’s yours?”

“You may call me Granny Jude,” the old woman replied as she busied herself pulling a fresh-baked loaf of bread out of the oven, whisking eggs to make a delicious omelette and pouring a tall glass of cold, fresh milk. “That’s what everybody called me when I was alive.”

“Thank you, Granny Jude,” said Barbara, bending to pet the cats before she washed her face and hands and helped the old woman to set the table. “What are the cats’ names?”

“The black one is Pippin, and the black and white one is his sister Posy,” said Granny Jude, smiling at her two pets and then at the child. “Don’t worry about pouring any milk for them, my dear – it’s been nigh on sixty years since either of them last drank a drop.”

Little Barbara ate ravenously, but of course Granny Jude did not touch a morsel, as ghosts cannot eat. She marvelled to herself at how calm and fearless this young one was, as any ordinary child would have fled from the cottage screaming in terror at the very notion of it being inhabited by a ghostly witch and her equally ghostly familiars.

“Thank you for being so kind to me, Granny Jude,” Barbara said as she helped the old woman clear away the remaining food and the dishes from the table. “I never had somebody be so nice to me before.”

“What about your family?” Granny Jude asked, her face showing a gentle concern, knowing the answer in her heart before the girl spoke again.

“They don’t understand…” Barbara whispered, looking down at her feet. Granny Jude smiled wistfully and pulled the girl into her arms in a comforting embrace.

“Neither did mine,” the old lady replied. “I ran away from them when I was only a little bit older than you. When I grew up, I hoped my husband and my children would understand, but they didn’t – and I had to run away once more, to this little cottage in the woods. Not even my grandchildren came to see me, so for a long time I was very lonely except for Pippin and Posy, and the seasonal travellers who come through this way seeking shelter or a little guidance.”

Granny Jude moved away from Barbara, with a brighter smile on her face this time. “You may stay with me as long as you like,” she declared. “The cats love you already, so it’s obvious that you’re a good, kind sort of girl. I would love to have somebody I could teach my spells and potions to, and to have another person around just for company, of course.”

And it was Barbara who hugged Granny Jude this time, her eyes shining with happy tears.

Winter gave way to spring, and young Barbara still stayed in the cottage with her beloved Granny Jude. She learned how to grow healing herbs, and to combine the sweet petals of blossoms and the most exquisitely scented of oils to create potions for love, luck and healthy babies. Wherever she went, the cats would follow her, purring or mewing for attention, and Granny Jude grew prouder of her pupil by the day.

As the weather became warmer, visitors from the towns and cities occasionally found their way to the cottage in the forest, wanting to buy the potions or packets of dried herbs, or seeking a reading of the Tarot cards which Granny Jude kept wrapped in a mauve silk scarf in her dresser drawer. 

Some of those visitors began to hear of the child, and to warm towards gentle little Barbara when they met her. They often brought her presents of sweets and dolls, and felt that they had received an extra blessing when she smiled at them and carefully wrapped the herbs and potions they purchased with her own nimble little hands. One woman who desired to be with child actually brought a small white kitten as a gift for Barbara, and so it was that a live cat, Moonbeam, became a much-loved companion to the resident ghost-cats and their doting witches.

One night, however, unwelcome visitors sought their way into the little cottage – witch-hunters with baying hounds and sharp knives drawn, craving blood. Granny Jude and Barbara were well prepared for their kind, however, weaving strands of enchanted thread around the cottage and the garden. All the witch-hunters saw when they arrived was the forlorn shell of an abandoned house, riddled with cobwebs that blew into spooky shapes in the midnight wind. The hounds made a racket at the sight and scent of spectral cats, but although the hunters searched and searched, not a soul could they find, and concluded that the dogs were being driven mad by the smell of forest animals nearby.

Months became years, and Barbara grew from a fragile little girl to a strong, clever and capable young woman. Moonbeam’s many kittens, sired by a feral tom, joined the tribe of felines who brightened the witches’ lives, and one fine day, another young runaway crept into the cottage in the woods, seeking refuge from a family who did not understand her powers.

Sweet Melissa, another little witch-child who grew to make her beloved Granny Jude and Aunt Barbara very proud.


End file.
